Satish Verma

June 5, 1935
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Clean Hands

Deeply troubled inside,

I become silent

like a quiet, serene sea.

Impatience. It

has erupted again in my

hardened mood.

Playing a gamble

without a dice. An unmasked

body trembles.

I will ask my

river goddess one day―

where was my moon?

Exploding in its

face, the enigma had never

any physical.

Making things easier for you.

I stand in the moment of truth

on flames.
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